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By this time Mr. Wopp was bearing a length of pipe into the yard. The parlor looked like a morgue with its inanimate objects lying bidden under sheets and cloths of varying degrees of past usefulness. Through a hole of one sheet could be seen the listless towzled head of Hannah, her faded wax countenance betraying the need of a tonic. The bottle went crash, and a furious yell informed the neighborhood that the Gang was “up to some new deviltry.” “I guess ours’ll be a grown-up chap; but I wish he’d be a boy my size. How do you guess poor old San Francisco looks to-day?”.
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Conrad
His boyish knowledge and imagination, equal to many pictures of danger for the girl, did not extend to her captors. He never stopped to consider, nor would he have understood if he had, the plight of the criminals. He knew that two had been captured, one of whom before that had carried off May Nell; but his small newspaper reading of “gangs” of counterfeiters had given him visions of dozens of desperate criminals, terrorizing communities, and equal to any bold crime. Now in his mind’s eye he could see men skulking in the brush, listening in rooms below, only waiting to pounce on May Nell the moment she smashed the window. Oh, yes, he must hurry—hurry! ‘Fix me the apple on his head’.” Mr. Crump indulged in an unusual hobby, the collection of old musical instruments, and a motley group it was that Moses eyed with growing wonder. “A whale is a fish bigger nor a house,” answered Pete, with ready assurance..
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